


A couple of stubborn kids

by wishie



Series: a mass of fools and knaves [1]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Canon, Alternate Universe - Gender Changes, Female Harry Potter, Gen, Girl-Who-Lived (Harry Potter), Male Hermione Granger, no ships yet they're first years
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-05-30
Updated: 2019-08-05
Packaged: 2020-03-29 21:37:57
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 13,220
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19028431
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wishie/pseuds/wishie
Summary: Not a single book Hector Granger had ever read actually prepared him for the shock of being told he was a wizard. His world would never be the same.





	1. Gryffindor at Heart

**Author's Note:**

  * For [displayheartcode](https://archiveofourown.org/users/displayheartcode/gifts).



> I know what I've said about genderbend fics. I think they can be erasure at best and transphobic at worst. But I read a mass of fools and knaves by displayheartcode on FFN (which I have to say is one of the only properly reflective genderbend fics I've ever read) and I fell in love. I wanted to explore what would happen if Hermione had been born a cis male, with all the conversations about sexuality that that'll come with later. 
> 
> First year will likely follow canon very closely, with almost definite divergence after that.

Not a single book Hector Granger had ever read actually prepared him for the shock of being told he was a wizard. He'd read fantasies. He'd read fantasies galore. Anything he could get his hands on, really: young adult mystiques with ice queens, first-edition Stephen Kings,  _Howl's Moving Castle_. His copies of  _Lord of the Rings_ —battered, well-worn, but not dog-eared—sat in pride of place on his bookshelf, which itself was in danger of collapsing.

He didn't really have any friends. The other boys at school were annoyed by him on good days and maliciously nasty to him on bad ones (he'd narrowly avoided getting jumped the other day when he'd hid in the teacher's bathroom), and the girls, just starting to flounce around boys their age, were dismissive of odd, cold, Hector Granger, with his kinky hair and ever-present book. None of the other children had the brain cells to spare a discussion on the physics of Star Wars, and it was fine, but a little lonely.

It didn't help that strange things tended to happen around Hector. He couldn't explain it—how do you explain to your mum that you locked a bully in a closet that locked from the inside? There was no good explanation for the Flying Potato Incident. And the way Billy Wilson had wet himself, after he'd stolen Hector's book…

Hector couldn't even begin to  _think_  about how  _that_  had happened. He'd just balled his fists, demanding his book back, feeling a flush of hot rage well inside him, and all of a sudden, Hector's book was in the mud, Billy's pants were wet, all the other children were laughing, and Billy had thrown a look at Hector that promised murder.

He had delivered. It hadn't been pleasant.

All these things and more were on Hector's mind as he stared up at the woman who had introduced herself as Professor McGonagall, deputy Headmistress of Hogwarts.

 _Hogwarts_. Even the name sounded magical, like something straight out of  _The Chronicles of Narnia_.

"A what?" Mr. Granger said, though it wasn't really a question.

"No, this makes sense," Mrs. Granger said, shaking her head with a not significant air of relief about her. "Don't you see, dear? Everything strange that's happened around Hector… I'm just glad I have an explanation."

"Can you show us magic?" Hector asked excitedly.

McGonagall flicked her wand, and the half-empty teapot rose into the air. The Grangers gaped at it. Hector was nearly breathless at the possibilities that spun before him.

"Will I learn how to do that? What other magic can you do? What subject do you teach? When will I get a wand? Where in London can you even buy a wand, anyway? Where is Hogwarts? You said Scotland, but there's a lot of land in…" He trailed off, noticing the professor's faintly amused expression.

"I performed a simple levitation charm, which you will learn in your beginning Charms classes," Professor McGonagall said. "There are many branches of magic that you will learn, one of which is the class that  _I_  teach, Transfiguration—" she turned the still-hovering teapot into a tortoise and continued to speak as though it hadn't happened, "—and you can buy a wand in Diagon Alley, to which I can escort you and your parents at your earliest convenience. Provided, of course," she added, "you decide to accept your place at Hogwarts."

"This is a lot to take in," Mrs. Granger said. She was gaping at her ex-teapot.

"I thought you wanted to be a doctor, Hector," Mr. Granger said.

"But I'm  _magic_ ," Hector said. "Are there wizarding doctors?"

"There are," McGonagall said. "We call them healers."

"Is Hogwarts the only school of magic?" Mrs. Granger asked.

"Certainly not," McGonagall said. "It is, however, the only one in Britain. On occasion, other British parents do opt to send their children to Beauxbatons and Durmstrang, but those require further lengths of travel."

Hector's mum hummed, and he knew he had her. He turned to his dad.

Mr. Granger's brow was furrowed as he took in the raw hope on his son's face, the relief on his wife's. "Alright," he said. The 'study hard' was implied and unnecessary—he knew his son.

There was a smile on McGonagall's face. Another flick of her wand, and the tortoise was a teapot again, cradled safely in Mrs. Granger's hands, as the professor drew a thick envelope out of her robes. "This," she said, "is for you, young Mr. Granger."

Hector took the envelope. It was thicker than paper, a little yellowed, rough under his fingers. "Is this parchment?" He asked. "Like, made from animal skin?"

"Common wizarding parchment, including the envelope you're holding, tends to be plant-based," McGonagall said. "But, yes."

The envelope was unstamped, and Hector lifted the wax seal with shaking fingers, drawing out several more sheets of parchment ("What does it mean, 'await my owl'?") and skimming through the supply list ("Where is Diagon Alley? Is it diagonal? Do a lot of students  _really_  have toads? How many classes are there total?").

His most pressing question, however, was, "Will I be behind?" He looked up at McGonagall worriedly. "All the other students, they've known about magic their whole lives, right? I'm sure I've got loads of catching up to do…"

"I'm going to stop you right there, Mr. Granger," McGonagall said. "The Decree for the Reasonable Restriction of Underage Sorcery says that no witch or wizard may do magic outside of school until the age of seventeen, and although you may need to catch up on wizarding culture and current events, I assure you, not a single student ever comes to Hogwarts a master of their craft."

Hector carefully slotted the letter back in the envelope and turned it over in his hands. The paper hummed under his fingers, the buzz of what he thought might be magic settling into his bones. It felt like a beginning. He felt a grin stretch his face.

* * *

He read  _Hogwarts, A History_  four times. He didn't mean to. But by the time he arrived at the platform, he'd memorized it back to front.

And there was nothing about how people were Sorted. The professor had mentioned houses, which were par for the course at boarding school, except that these houses were based on personality, which seemed baffling to him. When he'd asked, she had said that it was tradition to keep it a secret until the Sorting. He could've sworn her eyes had twinkled.

"Running into a brick wall doesn't seem very intuitive," his father said. Mr. Granger had been dubious from the minute they arrived at Diagon Alley. From the goblins ("Seems kind of cliche, doesn't it?") to the telescopes ("Wizarding telescopes do seem of poorer quality."), every question he had asked had been in strong tones of disbelief.

Hector thought everything was wonderful. He'd read all his course books back to front until he knew them largely by heart, and a few other books he'd taken out for extra-curricular reading, too. Though Mr. Granger seemed largely baffled by the world his son had wanted to enter, both he and Mrs. Granger had been content to listen to Hector talk about the things he was and wanted to learn. They'd patiently sat as he tried to make a feather float (which he had managed) and a matchstick turn into a needle (which he had not).

(Hector hadn't talked about anything from  _Modern Magical History_  or  _The Rise and Fall of the Dark Arts_. He didn't think his parents would take kindly to the fact that, though racism didn't appear to be much of an impediment in the wizarding world, he'd traded being one kind of second-class citizen for another.)

"It's  _magic_ , Dad," Hector said.

"No magic carpets, then?"

"I think they've been banned…" Hector trailed off as they came to the platform divider. "Here we are." He turned to his parents, feeling a little misty-eyed. His mother was beaming.

"My little boy," she said. "All grown up and going to boarding school."

"You went to boarding school, Mum," he said.

"So I did." She dabbed at her tears. "Write to us every week, you hear?"

"Of course," he said. "Every single week."

"That's my boy," she said, cupping his cheek.

"We love you, son," Mr. Granger said. With a few more hugs, Hector turned and wheeled his cart towards the barrier, slowly at first, then breaking into a run…

He blinked. A large scarlet steam engine idled on the track in front of him, and there was a wrought-iron archway behind him where the divider had been. He could see his parents through it, just starting to turn away.

The platform was just as magical as Diagon Alley had been. The sound of owls hooting nearly overpowered the chatter of the crowd. Robes swirled around ankles, and Hector saw more than a few wands as he made his way down the length of the train. He found an empty compartment a little ways down, and with the help of a girl with a prefect badge, managed to get his heavy trunk onto the train.

"I'm no good at levitating charms," the prefect said ruefully. "First year?"

"Yes," Hector said, feeling suddenly tongue-tied. "Er—"

"Muggleborn?" She smiled. "It's okay, you know. I'm a Muggleborn as well."

"Is it—" He found his voice and then lost it.

"You'll be alright," she said. "Everyone always worries, but Hogwarts is the best place on Earth, in my opinion. You'll do great—I can tell."

"Thank you," he said.

"Go on and find a compartment before all the good ones are taken," she said.

"Thank you," he said again, then, nearly tripping over himself, turned to find an empty compartment.

He was sitting in this compartment, already dressed in his Hogwarts robes and rereading  _Hogwarts, A History_  as the train merrily chugged out of the station and out of the city. No one had wanted to sit with him, which he was used to. His thoughts trailed in a more morose direction—what if he couldn't make friends? What if he'd left the Muggle world just to be an outsider in a different one? He thought about his parents' faces if he told them he couldn't hack it at Hogwarts, then shuddered.

The scenery around the train was changing from neat fields to rugged countryside when the door to the compartment slid open. Hector looked up eagerly, but the round-faced boy who stood there only said in an anguished tone, "Sorry, but have you seen a toad at all?"

"I haven't," Hector said.

"I've lost him," he said miserably. "He keeps getting away from me!"

"I can help you look," Hector offered, tucking his book back in his bag.

"Oh, would you?" the other boy said.

"Of course," Hector said. "I'm Hector—Hector Granger."

"Neville Longbottom," Neville said.

"What does your toad look like?" Hector asked.

"Er, warty," Neville said. "And brown."

"Well, he's bound to turn up," Hector said. "We can ask up and down the train."

The occupants of the first five compartments they looked in were a little dismissive of the two first year boys and their plight, but kind enough. At the first compartment, Hector had been stammering and rambling a little, but by the sixth, he'd quickly figured out what to say in order to expedite the process.

"Has anyone seen a toad? Neville's lost one," he said as briskly as possible.

"We've already told him we haven't seen it," a very lanky-looking ginger boy said, holding his wand.

"Oh, are you doing magic?" Hector asked. "Let's see it, then." He sat down. The other boy looked rather taken aback.

"Er—all right."

He cleared his throat.

"Sunshine, daisies, butter mellow, Turn this stupid, fat rat yellow."

He waved his wand, but nothing happened. Scabbers stayed gray and fast asleep.

"Are you sure that's a real spell?" Hector asked skeptically. "Well, it's not very good, is it? I've tried a few simple spells just for practice and it's all worked for me. Nobody in my family's magic at all, getting my letter was such a shock, but I was just so happy, I mean, it's the very best school of magic there is, I've heard—I've learned all our course books by heart, I just hope it's enough—I'm Hector Granger, by the way, who are you?"

He said this all very fast. He could feel the words tumbling out of his mouth as he said them, and could read the looks on the other two's faces, and  _knew_  he was messing up already, but he just couldn't stop himself. The girl looked at the ginger boy, and they traded a glance, before the redheaded boy muttered, "I'm Ron Weasley."

Hector nodded at him, resolving to not ramble again.

"Halley Potter," said the girl, and Hector's brain lit up.

"Are you really?" He asked excitedly. "I know all about you! I got a few extra books when I was in Diagon, and you were in quite a few of them—er,  _Modern Magical History_ ,  _The Rise and Fall of the Dark Arts,_  and, er,  _Great Wizarding Events of the Twentieth Century_."

By the look on Halley's face, this was not the right thing to say, either. She looked more dazed than anything as she said, "Am I?"

"I'd have found out everything I could if it was me," Hector said. "If you'd like, I can lend them to you… do either of you know which house you'll be in? I've been reading up on all the houses and I hope I'm in Gryffindor, it sounds by far the best; I hear Dumbledore himself was in it, but I suppose Ravenclaw wouldn't be too bad… Anyway," he said, noticing the disgruntled looks on both their faces, "we'd better go and look for Neville's toad. You two had better change, you know, I expect we'll be there soon."

As the compartment door closed behind them, he heard Ron Weasley say, "Whatever house I'm in, I hope—" And the door thudded closed, but he had an awful feeling about the rest of that sentence. He sighed heavily and plastered a large smile on his face.

"Come on, Neville," he said. "Let's keep looking."

In the end, they managed to get a Ravenclaw prefect to Summon Neville's toad, and Neville and Hector parted with a strained smile on Hector's part and some stammering on Neville's. As he passed by Ron and Halley Potter's compartment again, there was the sounds of a scuffle, and then a blond, rather pointy-looking boy shoved past, trailed by two thickset boys with dull eyes. Hector frowned and poked his head in. There were sweets all over the floor, and Ron was picking up his rat by the tail.

"What's happened in here?" He asked.

"I think he's been knocked out," Ron said to Halley, ignoring Hector completely. "No — I don't believe it — he's gone back to sleep." And so he had. "You've met Malfoy before?"

Hector listened to Halley talk about meeting an unpleasantly rude boy in Diagon Alley.

"I've heard of his family," said Ron darkly. "They were some of the first to come back to our side after You-Know-Who disappeared. Said they'd been bewitched. My dad doesn't believe it. He says Malfoy's father didn't need an excuse to go over to the Dark Side." He turned to Hector, finally. "Can we help you with something?"

"We're, ah, almost there," Hector said, stumbling over the words. "You haven't been fighting, have you?"

"Scabbers has been fighting, not us," said Ron, scowling at him. "Would you mind leaving while we change?"

"We?" Hector raised an eyebrow at Ron, then at Halley. Though Halley looked slightly amused, Ron flushed a dark red and glared.

"Do you know where the bathroom is?" Halley asked, and Hector pointed wordlessly. She went, and Hector was left staring at Ron.

"I only came in here because people outside are behaving very childishly," Hector said abruptly, feeling defensive. "Racing up and down the corridors. You've got dirt on your nose, by the way, did you know?"

Ron shut the door in his face and pulled the shade down. Hector rubbed at his forehead.

A voice echoed through the train: "We will be reaching Hogwarts in five minutes' time. Please leave your luggage on the train, it will be taken to the school separately."

Hector got off the train, alone. A very large, bearded man carrying a lamp called, "Firs' years! Firs' years over here! All right there, Halley?" He beamed at Halley, who was ahead of Hector with Ron.

All the first years tripped down a steep, narrow path lined with trees. Hector kept tripping on rocks; he wasn't used to the outdoors much. Neville had evidently lost his toad again; his hands were empty and he was sniffling.

"Yeh'll get yer firs' sight o' Hogwarts in a sec," Hagrid called over his shoulder, "jus' round this bend here."

Just as Hector was thinking that was it, that they'd all die out here in this creepy forest, the trees cleared, and they could see it.

Hogwarts.

He couldn't speak. He almost couldn't think. The windows of Hogwarts glittered above them, and for the first time in his life, Hector could feel his dreams unfold before him like a cloak, like a map, like the culmination of destiny. More than that, the magic in the air was palpable. It was thousands of years of students and teachers and the magic of learning.

He followed Ron and Halley into one of the boats and barely noticed when it lurched forward, so focused was he on the school ahead. The pictures in  _Hogwarts, A History_  hadn't done it justice. Nothing ever would, he thought. He ducked his head when ordered and carried on thinking, running Potions problems in his head, wondering what he would have to do to be Sorted.

The castle itself was no less imposing once they were inside of it. The entrance hall itself seemed larger than all the lives it had ever touched. Professor McGonagall had given Hector a warm, fond look as he passed her, and he had tried to smile in return. He hoped he had. He barely listened to the professor explain the sorting, and the houses, and when they had entered the Great Hall, was dimly running through all the spells he only sort of knew how to use in his head. He wished he had taken the time to learn more Charms…

"Granger, Hector!"

"Well, well, well, what do we have here?" A voice whispered in his ear. "You've had a good life, but a lonely one, haven't you? Plenty of smarts, plenty of desire… you crave knowledge, don't you? Yes, not a bad mind at all…"

 _I want Gryffindor_ , he thought to the hat.

"Gryffindor? Are you sure? You wouldn't fit in there, you know. In Ravenclaw you wouldn't be an outcast. Ravenclaw would nurture your wit, your wisdom."

 _What good are books if you don't have people to share them with?_  He thought.

"Very Hufflepuff of you," the hat said. "Still, you wouldn't belong there, either. Hm… Ravenclaw or Gryffindor… you could go either way… are you quite sure it'll be Gryffindor for you?"

 _Yes_ , Hector thought, as firmly as he could.  _I've never been more sure of anything_.

"Just know, then, that your surety is exactly what makes you GRYFFINDOR!"

Later, lying in his bed with the curtains shut tight, his stomach full and his mind whirring at the speed of sound, the hat's words replayed in his mind.

 _No one is perfectly chivalrous and daring at the age of eleven_ , he thought, rolling over.  _So the hat can't look for innate traits the way it might be able to with Hufflepuff, or Ravenclaw, or even Slytherin. Is… is Gryffindor defined by the choice?_

He fell asleep before he could finish his thought, and in the morning didn't remember it at all.


	2. We're Gonna Be Late For Magic School!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hector goes to the library. Halley is hotheaded. Ron goes along with it.

Learning magic, Hector decided, was _magnificent_. It was as far from Muggle school as he could think to name it. From Astronomy lessons at midnight to hands-on Herbology in the greenhouses, he couldn't understand how his classmates kept griping about their homework.

It was _magic_ homework. At _magic_ school. He imagined that if he'd gone to ordinary secondary he'd be learning long division and the five-paragraph essay, and here his wizarding classmates were moaning about having to write a foot on the first goblin rebellion.

He attended his classes with an eagerness (he thought) he had never before brought to anything, which, when recounted it in a letter to his parents, earned their incredulity.

_Hector, you've always been like that,_ his father wrote.

_But we're glad you're having fun,_ his mother wrote. _Have you made any friends?_

He skirted around that question in his response, because the truth was that he hadn't, not really. He was friendly with Dean Thomas and Seamus Finnegan, he supposed. He was acquaintances with Halley, though she was always attached to Ron, whose train-borne vitriol towards Hector had not died. Neville _was_ a friend, but a rather solitary person, and generally spent so much time chasing Trevor around that it was impossible to count on him for anything.

He'd never had friends, though, so it wasn't as though it was anything new. A little lonely, but he was at _magic_ school, and damn it if he wasn't going to make the most of it.

The very second day, Hector asked a few questions, and quickly received answers—Percy Weasley was only too happy to direct a first year to the library, which itself was shocking. Tens of thousands of books filled thousands of shelves filled hundreds of rows, with dusty chandeliers overhead keeping light. It was the most magnificent library he'd ever seen in his life—not to mention the books themselves, which were ancient and old, vellum nearly falling off spines of cracked leather. The smell of parchment and ink filled the air.

The librarian, an ornery-looking woman, glared at Hector as he entered. It was with a pang that he remembered the cheerful, smiling librarian from the local Muggle library back home. He could already tell that Irma Pince would neither be open to striking up a friendship nor helpful with any projects.

Hector spent more time in the library than anywhere else. He was rarely in the common room; the sheer amount of cross-referencing he did to complete his assignments required hours of walking through the stacks, searching for books. The school shifted around him: moving staircases, doors that weren't doors on Thursdays, portraits that moved and suits of armor that walked. Hector took it all in with wide eyes, all these things that some of his wizard-born classmates took for granted, just like the magic classes themselves. To them, waving a wand was the height of mundanity, with lessons topping the list of Things That Are Boring. Hogwarts was just another European castle, one they'd expected to attend all their lives, and most of them would take jobs in the Ministry after graduation, working as some paper-pusher who rarely lifted a wand save to levitate a stack of papers or send an interdepartmental memo. This was Expected. This was Normal.

To Hector, this was a travesty. Everything around him sparkled with magic, and as a Muggle-born, who'd grown up in a world that was _truly_ ordinary, he couldn't understand how those who'd grown up with it all their lives couldn't see the wonder in it. Every Charm he cast took his breath away. Every successful Transfiguration made his heart skip a beat. On the first day of Transfiguration classes, when Professor McGonagall changed her desk into a pig and back, a helpless giggle had bubbled up in his chest.

Though he agreed with his classmates that Defense Against the Dark Arts was a bit of a joke, he still strived to get the most out of all his classes, whether that was doggedly staying awake in History of Magic to desperately trying to stay under the radar of the biased Potions professor, Professor Snape.

The first thing Hector noticed, walking into Double Potions, was the professor, sitting behind his desk. His face seemed devoid of emotion, and he lingered on Halley's name when calling roll with quiet menace. He was a hateful man who wore a constant sneer on his face, and seemed to derive pleasure from taunting and tormenting his Gryffindor students, especially Halley.

"You are here to learn the subtle science and exact art of potionmaking," he began, rolling his parchment. He spoke in barely more than a whisper, but they caught every word. Hector was on the edge of his seat. "As there is little foolish wand-waving here, many of you will hardly believe this is magic. I don't expect you will really understand the beauty of the softly simmering cauldron with its shimmering fumes, the delicate power of liquids that creep through human veins, bewitching the mind, ensnaring the senses… I can teach you how to bottle fame, brew glory, even stopper death — if you aren't as big a bunch of dunderheads as I usually have to teach."

"Potter!" said Snape suddenly. "What would I get if I added powdered root of asphodel to an infusion of wormwood?" _Draught of Living Death,_ Hector thought, raising his hand. Snape ignored it.

"I don't know, sir," said Halley. Snape's lips curled into a sneer.

"Tut, tut—fame clearly isn't everything," he said. "Let's try again. Potter, where would you look if I told you to find me a bezoar?"

Hector kept his hand up. He _knew_ all of these things. Out of the corner of his eye, he could see Malfoy, Crabbe, and Goyle shaking with laughter.

"I don't know, sir," Halley said again.

"Thought you wouldn't open a book before coming, eh, Potter?" Professor Snape continued to ignore Hector's hand, which was getting rather tired. "What is the difference, Potter, between monkshood and wolfsbane?"

"I don't know," said Halley quietly. "I think Hector does, though, why don't you try him?"

A few people laughed. Hector felt his face grow very hot. Seamus winked at Halley, who smiled a bit. Snape, however, was not pleased.

"Put your hand down," he snapped at Hector, who did. "For your information, Potter, asphodel and wormwood make a sleeping potion so powerful it is known as the Draught of Living Death. A bezoar is a stone taken from the stomach of a goat and it will save you from most poisons. As for monkshood and wolfsbane, they are the same plant, which also goes by the name of aconite. Well? Why aren't you all copying that down?"

There was a sudden rummaging for quills and parchment. Over the noise, Snape said, "And a point will be taken from Gryffindor House for your cheek, Potter."

Hector kept his head down for the rest of the lesson, which was a practical. Snape came around and paired him with Parvati Patil, who was smart and nice enough. He was just stewing the horned slugs and trying not to breathe in the fumes when Neville melted Seamus's cauldron, which somehow lost _Halley_ a point for Gryffindor.

Hector continued to brew, thoughtful, and at the end of class, when he and Parvati turned in a potion that he knew was perfect, Professor Snape simply gave it a cursory glance and then Vanished it, exalting Malfoy's slightly off-color potion instead.

It was at that moment that Hector realized that adults weren't infallible. He'd known it before, but all the adults in his life had, until that point, been mostly fair, and had tried their best. Snape, on the other hand, seemed to have a personal grudge against Halley and all the other Gryffindors, which seemed unprofessional in the extreme.

If he was a little less enthusiastic about raising his hand from then on, nobody commented.

* * *

"Flying lessons," Hector overheard. "This Thursday, with Slytherin, didja hear?"

He pushed to the front of the little cluster in front of the bulletin. Sure enough, posted front and center was the notice. Before long, it was all anyone would talk about.

Malfoy talked loudly enough that he could be heard from all the way across the hall. "—and _then_ I did a Sloth-grip roll, narrowly escaping the Muggles in their helicopter." Pansy Parkinson, his constant hanger-on, clapped loudly.

"What's a helicopter, Malfoy?" Hector muttered under his breath. No one heard him except Dean, who snickered. Dean, being Muggle-born himself, seemed to be the only one not completely taken in by the Quidditch madness sweeping the students. Well, Dean and Neville, who had never been on a broom.

Talk of Quidditch was only broken by the daily arrival of the mail. Hector watched with interest as Neville unwrapped a Remembrall, then tried not to pay attention as Malfoy caused a scene, Halley (of course) rising to the bait. This carried over to flying class, where Hector watched as Malfoy snatched up Neville's Remembrall, taunted Halley with it, and then, when she rose up to meet him, goaded her into diving for it. Hector watched dispassionately as she was taken by Professor McGonagall.

At dinner, later, when Malfoy walked up, Hector buried his nose in his book, but he still heard Halley and Ron making plans to meet Malfoy in the trophy room at midnight for a wizard's duel. He debated whether or not it was worth it to speak up, his desire to keep his head down and maybe make some friends someday warring with his respect for authority.

As usual, his respect for authority won out.

"Excuse me," he said, putting his book down.

"Can't a person eat in peace in this place?" said Ron. Hector ignored him, looking at Halley, hoping he could maybe appeal to her senses.

"I couldn't help but overhear what you and Malfoy were talking about," he began, trying to sound apologetic and ignoring Ron's snarky comment, "and you really _shouldn't_ go wandering around the school at night, think of the points you'll lose Gryffindor if you're caught, and—and you're bound to be," he finished lamely. "Not to mention it's dangerous, and—"

Halley's eyes narrowed. "And it's really none of your business," she said.

"Good-bye," said Ron.

Hector was furious. At first, he resolved to just let them get caught. Halley was right, in a way. It was none of his business if they got caught. It would be on their records, not his.

As the hours passed, however, he got more and more angry. Scenes played in his mind: McGonagall giving him a rare smile and five points for Gryffindor. Professor Flitwick handing back her essay, a large 'O' inked in the corner. He thought about the hours and hours he spent in the library, cross-referencing books and writing annotated bibliographies just to maybe earn ten points here and there. And here Ron and Halley were, going out at night and undoing all of his hard work.

At half-eleven, he heard Ron get out of bed and go down the stairs. Hector made up his mind quickly. He seized his wand and tiptoed after him.

Halley was already in the common room. She and Ron were almost to the portrait hole when Hector spoke.

"I can't believe you're really doing this," he said. Ron whirled around, his wand up.

" _You!_ " said Ron furiously. "Go back to bed!"

"I won't," Hector said. "Have you thought about this at all?"

"It's none of your business," Halley snapped.

"I almost told your brother," he said. "The prefect. He'd stop this, I know he would. I've half a mind to go fetch him now."

"You wouldn't," Ron said.

That was true, but Hector just shrugged.

"Come on," Halley said to Ron, "Let's just go." She pushed open the portrait and clambered out, Ron close behind. Hector followed them.

"Don't you care about Gryffindor?" he tried. "All those points you're going to lose if a teacher catches you, not to mention the kind of damage Malfoy could inflict on you in a duel—"

"Go away."

"All right," he said, wringing his hands. "But I warned you, you just remember what I said when you're on the train home tomorrow, you're so…" He trailed off as he turned back to the portrait. It was empty. The Fat Lady was gone. Ron and Halley were at the end of the hall. He scrambled after them.

"I'm coming with you," he said, breathless.

"Like hell you are," Ron said angrily.

"The Fat Lady's gone," Hector said, as coldly as he could. "If you think I'm just going to stand around waiting for Filch to find me—"

"That's hardly _our_ problem, you were the one who—"

"Shut _up_ ," Halley hissed. "Come with us or not, I don't care, but just _be quiet_ so no one catches us and we don't _lose points_."

The last two words were definitely aimed at Hector, but he couldn't find it in himself to care much. He crept along with the two of them, peeking around corners and trying to stay out of the strips of moonlight along the corridors.

The trophy room was empty, and there was a sinking feeling in Hector's stomach. Malfoy's smirk as he'd turned away from the Gryffindor table…

"He's late, maybe he's chickened out," Ron whispered.

Filch's voice could suddenly be heard. "Sniff around, my sweet, they might be lurking in a corner."

"Or it's a trap," Hector whispered.

"This way," Halley mouthed to them. Together they crept down a long gallery full of suits of armor. Hector tripped on a loose flagstone and fell headlong into one.

The clanging and crashing were enough to wake up the whole castle.

"RUN!" Halley yelled, and the three of them sprinted down the gallery, her in the lead. Hector quickly developed a stitch in his side, but he kept running, resolving to exercise if he made it out of this…

Finally, they stopped.

"I think we've lost him," Halley panted.

"I told you," Hector said, between gasps. "I _told_ you."

"We've got to get back to Gryffindor Tower," said Ron, "quickly as possible."

"It was a trap," Hector said. "Malfoy was never going to meet you there—Filch knew someone was going to be in the trophy room. Malfoy must have tipped him off."

Halley's face was mutinous. It was as good as affirmation to Hector. "Let's go," she said.

Nearby, a doorknob rattled, and Peeves shot out of a classroom a few paces down. He spotted them and squealed delightedly.

"Shut up, Peeves—please—you'll get us thrown out."

Peeves cackled.

"Wandering around at midnight, Ickle Firsties? Tut, tut, tut. Naughty, naughty, you'll get caughty."

"Not if you don't give us away, Peeves, please."

"Should tell Filch, I should," said Peeves in a saintly voice, but his eyes glittered wickedly. "It's for your own good, you know.

"Get out of the way," Ron snapped, and to Hector's horror, before he could stop him, took a swipe at Peeves.

"STUDENTS OUT OF BED!" Peeves bellowed. "STUDENTS OUT OF BED DOWN THE CHARMS CORRIDOR!"

They ducked under Peeves—Ron ran right through him—and ran for their lives, right down to the end of the corridor, where they slammed into a locked door.

"We're done for," moaned Ron. "This is the end!"

"Shove over," Hector said. He tapped the lock with his wand. " _Alohomora_!"

The lock clicked and the door swung open—they piled through it, shut it quickly, and pressed their ears against it, listening to the sounds of Filch and Peeves arguing right outside.

"Shit," Halley whispered. Ron slammed his hand over her mouth, but her eyes were wide and frantic as she gestured behind them.

"Bloody, buggering," Ron started, but Hector was already groping for the doorknob. He pulled it open and they all collapsed out of it, sprinting back down the corridor, all the way up to the seventh floor.

"Where on earth have you all been?" The Fat Lady asked, looking at the bathrobes hanging off their shoulders and their flushed, sweaty faces.

"Pig snout, pig snout," Halley panted, and the portrait swung forward. They scrambled into the common room and collapsed, trembling, into armchairs.

Another fury was rising in Hector again, a deeper fury than the last time.

"What do they think they're doing, keeping a thing like that locked up in a school?" said Ron finally.

"You wouldn't know about it if you hadn't gone looking," Hector snapped.

"It was standing on a trapdoor," Halley said thoughtfully. "It's guarding something."

"What does that matter?" snarled Hector, standing up from the chair. "We almost got killed—or worse, expelled." He felt his face warm when he realized he'd said those in the wrong order, but neither of them seemed inclined to point out his mistake. "I hope you're pleased with yourselves. I'm going to bed."

Ron came up not much after, but Hector was still too angry to say anything to him. The two of them had broken the rules. He'd gotten swept up with them. They could have died. They might have been expelled. He felt hot and cold at once when he thought about getting expelled, when he thought about getting his wand snapped and told he wasn't ever to do magic again, getting told he wasn't to be a part of his wonderful, magical world, and decided that maybe his misspeak earlier wasn't really a misspeak after all.


	3. Chapter Three: A Maudlin Halloween

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There's a troll. In the boy's bathroom.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter's a little shorter, but the plot's just begun to pick up. :)

 

"Come on," Ron said, "aren't you the least bit interested in the dog and the trapdoor?"

"No," Hector snapped. "And I'll thank you not to talk to me."

The owls flooded the Great Hall, dropping parcels and envelopes, careless of where they landed. By now it was old hat to be splattered with something or other during breakfast, and second nature for older students to Vanish the mess from themselves and younger students around them. Hector himself was currently trying to learn the Vanishing Charm—or at the very least a cleaning one—for that very reason.

When a broomstick-shaped parcel was dropped in front of Halley, knocking about her bacon and sending orange juice into Hector's lap, he scowled. Halley was reading a note attached to it, and said something in an undertone to Ron.

"A Nimbus Two Thousand!" Hector heard Ron moan. "I've never even _touched_ one."

 _Not very subtle, are they?_ Hector sighed, pushing his porridge away. He stood.

"Hold on, Hector, you've got orange juice all down your front," Percy Weasley said, Vanishing the mess.

"Thanks, Percy," Hector said gratefully.

"Not a problem," Percy said, as pompous as always.

Hector managed a smile and rushed out of the Great Hall, intending maybe to go to the library, but caught the tail end of a tiff between Halley, Ron, and—of course—Malfoy. He watched Flitwick pat Harry's shoulder—having to reach up a little to do so—and Malfoy stalk away angrily.

"It's true," he heard Halley say. "If he hadn't stolen Neville's Remembrall I wouldn't be on the team…"

Hector didn't register his mouth was open until it was. "So I suppose you think that's a reward for breaking rules?" he said angrily.

"I thought you weren't speaking to us?" Halley said.

"Yes, don't stop now," Ron said. "It's doing us so much good."

Something cold spread inside Hector, like ice freezing his insides, and he opened his mouth to say something, but they were already turning away.

He went to the library.

He was already tired of being angry, but he couldn't help it—every time he saw them, or thought about them, a new rush of anger rose inside him. Halley and Ron were reckless, and idiotic, and one day…

 _One day they'll get killed for it,_ Hector thought furiously. _Well, let them. See if I care._

* * *

Over the next month and a half, Hector spent so much time in the library that he lost track of the days. He was surprised when he arose one morning to the smell of baking pumpkin.

"Is it Halloween already?" he asked Seamus, who nodded the affirmative.

"I heard the Halloween Feast's excellent," he said.

"That'll be good," Hector said, but Seamus was already chattering excitedly to Dean.

In Charms, Professor Flitwick announced that he thought they were ready to start making objects fly. He put them into pairs to work—to their immense displeasure, Hector was paired with Ron.

"Now, don't forget that nice wrist movement we've been practicing!" squeaked Professor Flitwick, perched on top of his pile of books as usual. "Swish and flick, remember, swish and flick. And saying the magic words properly is very important, too—never forget Wizard Baruffio, who said 's' instead of 'f' and found himself on the floor with a buffalo on his chest."

Ron seemed to be having a bit of trouble. Hector, having successfully accomplished this Charm once over the summer, sat back to let him practice, but his attempts were getting more and more ridiculous.

" _Wingardium Leviosa!_ " he shouted, waving his arms like a windmill.

"You're getting the wand movement wrong," Hector said, frustrated. "It's a tighter flick. And you're pronouncing it wrong, too—it's Win- _gar_ -dium Levi _-o_ -sa, with emphasis on the 'gar' and the long o."

"You do it, then, if you're so clever," Ron snarled.

Hector eyed him coolly, pushed up the sleeve of his robe, flicked his wand, and said, "Wingardium Leviosa."

The feather rose off the desk and hovered about four feet above their heads.

"Oh, well done!" cried Professor Flitwick, clapping. "Everyone see here, Mr. Granger's done it!"

By the end of class, Ron was even more bad-tempered than he was normally. Hector gathered his stuff together and exited the classroom behind him, fully intending to stay out of the way, when he heard Ron say to Halley, "It's no wonder no one can stand him, he's a nightmare, honestly."

Hector stopped dead in the middle of the hallway, wondering why he cared so much. He'd heard worse in primary school—had been _treated_ worse—and yet, he wanted to punch Ron Weasley in the face more than any other bully he'd ever had.

He shoved past the two of them. "I think he heard you," he heard Halley say.

He didn't realize he was crying until he reached the boy's bathroom, and felt utterly ridiculous for it—who ever heard of an eleven-year-old boy crying at simple words? It didn't take him long to calm down, but then he just felt terrible.

Universally hated, it seemed. According to Ron Weasley, at least. Hector didn't trust far as far as he could throw him, but people did like Ron. Perhaps it was more accurate to say that people liked the Weasleys, who appeared to be just as much staples of the school as the professors. Hector had never expected to be _popular_ at Hogwarts, but neither had he expected to be outright scorned. He hadn't known what to expect in Gryffindor. He thought about his words to the Sorting Hat. _What good are books with no one to share them with_?

"Hector, you in here?" He heard someone say. Dean.

"Yeah, I'm here," he said.

"You missed History of Magic," Dean said. "You alright, mate?"

"Just feeling a bit under the weather," Hector said.

"I can walk you to the hospital wing," Dean offered, but Hector shook his head before remembering Dean couldn't see him.

"I think I'll just hang tight here," Hector said. "I don't feel _that_ bad."

"I'll see you at the feast, then?" Dean asked.

"If I'm feeling up to it," Hector said, feeling bad about lying.

A couple hours later, he was just sitting on the toilet, reading a book, when the most rancid odor he'd ever smelled hit his nose. He peeked out of the stall, then instantly, slowly, shut it.

 _A troll. In the boy's bathroom._ He didn't know if he wanted to hysterically laugh or cry with fear. The stalls crumpled around him as something hit them, and he had to dive out of the wreckage, landing under a sink. The troll advanced on him, raising his club high. He couldn't help it. He screamed.

Just then, the door burst open, and Halley and Ron tumbled in.

"Quickly," Halley said frantically. "Confuse it!" She seized a tap and threw it as hard as she could at the troll. It barely noticed, continuing to lumber after Hector.

"Oy, pea-brain!" yelled Ron from the other side of the chamber, and he threw a metal pipe at it. The troll didn't even seem to notice the pipe hitting its shoulder, but it heard the yell and paused again, turning its ugly snout toward Ron instead, giving Halley time to run around it.

"Come on, run, run!" Halley was now trying to pull Hector toward the door, but Hector couldn't make his legs move. The shouting and the echoes seemed to be driving the troll berserk. It roared again and started toward Ron, who was nearest and had no way to escape.

Halley then did something that was both very brave and very stupid: She took a great running jump and managed to fasten her arms around the troll's neck from behind, her wand going straight up one of the troll's nostrils.

Howling with pain, the troll twisted and flailed its club, with Halley clinging on for dear life. Hector had collapsed back on the ground. His mind was blank. He didn't know what to do. It was Ron who pulled out his own wand and cried, "Wingardium Leviosa!"

The club flew suddenly out of the troll's hand, rose high, high up into the air, turned slowly over — and dropped, with a sickening crack, onto its owner's head. The troll swayed on the spot and then fell flat on its face, with a thud that made the whole room tremble.

Halley got to her feet and pulled her wand out of the troll's nose, leaving a trail that made them all shudder.

"It is—dead?" Hector was just asking, when there was a sudden slamming and footsteps, and Professor McGonagall, closely followed by Snape and Quirrell, came bursting into the room. Quirrell took one look at the troll, let out a faint whimper, and sat quickly down on a toilet, clutching his heart. Snape bent over the troll.

Professor McGonagall was looking at Halley and Ron. Hector had never seen her look so angry. Her lips were white.

"What on earth were you thinking of?" said Professor McGonagall, with cold fury in her voice. "You're lucky you weren't killed. Why aren't you in your dormitory?"

Hector wasn't listening to her. He was looking at Ron, who was still standing with his wand in the air, and Halley, who was wiping hers on the troll's trousers. They'd come back for him. Maybe more grudgingly, in Ron's case, but they'd _saved_ him, hadn't let him be troll food. Surely that had to count for something.

"They were looking for me, Professor," he said.

"Mr. Granger!"

He managed to pull himself to his feet. "I went looking for the troll because I—I thought I could deal with it on my own—you know, because I've read all about them." Out of the corner of his eye, he could see Ron drop his wand. He continued speaking, the first lie he'd ever told a teacher.

"If they hadn't found me, I'd be dead now. Halley stuck her wand up its nose and Ron knocked it out with its own club. They didn't have time to come and fetch anyone. It was about to finish me off when they arrived."

"Well — in that case…" said Professor McGonagall, staring at the three of them, "Mr. Granger, you foolish boy, how could you think of tackling a mountain troll on your own?"

Hector hung his head, trying his best to look repentant.

"Mr. Granger, five points will be taken from Gryffindor for this," said Professor McGonagall. "I'm very disappointed in you. If you're not hurt at all, you'd better get off to Gryffindor tower. Students are finishing the feast in their houses." Hector left, then, shutting the door quietly behind him.

He hadn't been completely unaffected by Professor McGonagall's scolding, but neither was he wholly affected: getting lectured by a teacher was really something else when you knew you hadn't done anything wrong.

Besides, he could make up those points the next day, easily.

His enjoyment of the makeshift feast was tempered by the knowledge that he could have died, and that it was Halley Potter and Ron Weasley who'd saved him. It was only after everything was over, when the last of the food had been cleared from the common room and they were washed and dressed for bed, that Hector finally got the courage to talk to Ron.

"Do you really want to be my friend?" he asked. He stood, ramrod straight, next to Ron's four-poster. He couldn't help but think about primary school, all the bullies who had told him he took up too much space, the mean girls who'd told him he was cold, and the millions of myriad ways they had made him feel lonely, lonely and afraid and—why was he spiraling? No one from his old school was at Hogwarts, and Ron wasn't about to throw his books in the mud. There was no reason to spiral.

(He was absolutely terrified.)

Ron blinked at him, bewildered. "You lied to McGonagall and Snape for us. In my book, that makes us friends for life."

"Oh." Hector sat down at the edge of the bed. "I'm not used to having friends. How pathetic is that?" He wrung his hands together, unsure of what to say or even do next.

"I didn't have too many friends growing up, either," Ron said. "Just me and endless brothers and a sister."

"How many?"

"Five brothers," Ron said.

"I'm an only child."

"Like Halley. Except…"

"Except?"

"Her relatives are tossers," Ron said, by way of explanation.

"Ah," Hector said.

They sat there on Ron's bed for a minute.

"I'm not used to this either," Ron said. "I thought you were—"

"—completely insufferable, I know," said Hector. "No need to drag it out."

"—I thought you were a know-it-all," Ron said, "But you _knew_ all the answers to Snape's questions on the first day, didn't you?"

Hector had. "What's it like, growing up with so many brothers?"

"I'm the second youngest of seven," Ron said. "I've got Bill's old robes, Charlie's old wand, and Percy's old rat." He waved vaguely at Scabbers, who was napping on his pillow. "I 'spose Ginny and I are close. Had to be. Fred and George have got each other, Bill and Charlie were always friends, and Percy always had his books."

"Like me," Hector said softly.

"Well, you've got me and Halley now, haven't you?"

"Was Halley—"

"—my first friend. I reckon I was hers too."

"Neville was mine." They both spared a glance for Neville's four-poster, out of which the sounds of light snoring could be heard. Out of the bedskirt hopped Trevor, who croaked and disappeared.

"You're not bad for second," Ron said.

"I would hope so."

"Halley won't say it, but she'll agree with me."

"I didn't expect—"

"I know."

"Do we shake on it?"

They shook on it. Ron snorted and shook his head, amusement in his eyes. "Barmy. You're mad, Granger, you know that?"

"We've already shaken on it," Hector reminded him. "You can't take it back."

"Thank Merlin for that," Ron snorted. "I might pass Charms now."

"That was some good spellwork back there. Your wand movement was perfect."

"Well, there was more pressure, wasn't there?"

"It should be easier to perform the spells in the classroom," Hector insisted. "All you have to do is focus, it's not that hard."

"Bonkers," Ron said, shaking his head. "Absolutely nutters."

* * *

_Dear Mum and Dad,_

_You won't believe it, but I really have made friends…_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hate it when authors cut Ron's characterization off at the knees. He's, for the most part, a good person and a loyal friend. I think people forget that, in general, canonically, it's Harry who is a little more short-sighted and stunted about feelings and emotions.


	4. Quidditch Matches and Death Threats

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Halley has her first Quidditch match. Ron has anxiety. Hector has suspicions.

As the year drew into November, Hector found that, for the first time in his life, he had friends.

What having friends meant was that every night, instead of staying in the library until it closed, Hector packed up a few hours early, checked out his books, and schlepped up to the common room to spend time with Halley and Ron, who were usually playing Gobstones or doing homework by the fire. On occasion, some free afternoons, one or both of them joined  _ him _ in the library, where he helped them with their homework. He made homework schedules for them, helped edit their essays, and their grades improved. In return, they made sure he ate and slept at regular times—Hector could be very forgetful when fixated on something. If Hector was writing next week’s Transfiguration essay at midnight, Ron would appear and drag him to bed. If Hector wasn’t in the Great Hall at six o’clock, Halley came and found him in the library to bring him to dinner.

His first impulse was still to snap at anyone who sat down at his table in the library. But slowly, as the month wore on, those urges went away, and he felt himself loosen. 

Ron could be a little slow, but he was brilliant when he applied himself properly. Halley was sharp and quick, but kind, and they were the best friends Hector could ever imagine having. 

He’d become a little more relaxed about breaking rules as well. Sometimes rules  _ had _ to be broken. If Halley and Ron hadn’t broken the rules to come and save him in the bathroom, he’d have died. 

The day before Halley’s first Quidditch match as Gryffindor seeker, the three of them were out in the freezing courtyard during break, and Hector had conjured them up a bright blue fire that could be carried around in a jam jar. They were standing with their backs to it, getting warm, when Snape crossed the yard, limping. Hector, Ron, and Halley moved closer together to block the fire from view; they were sure it wouldn’t be allowed. Unfortunately, something about their guilty faces caught Snape’s eye. He limped over. He hadn’t seen the fire, but he seemed to be looking for a reason to tell them off anyway. 

“What’s that you’ve got there, Potter?” 

Halley held up  _ Quidditch Through the Ages _ , which Hector had lent her.

“Library books are not to be taken outside the school,” said Snape. “Give it to me. Five points from Gryffindor.” 

“That’s not a rule,” Hector said. “He just made that up.”

“Wonder what’s wrong with his leg,” Halley said.

“Dunno, but I hope it’s really hurting him,” Ron muttered.

The Gryffindor common room was noisier than usual that evening. Hector had just barely managed to claim them all seats by the window, which was decent real estate in the summer but in the winter seemed too cold, even with the roaring fire fifty paces away. Halley seemed restless, fidgeting in her chair. Suddenly, she stood.

“I’m going to go ask Snape for my book back,” she said. Hector made eye contact with Ron.

“Better you than me,” Ron said.

“I don’t think he’ll refuse if other teachers are listening,” Halley said.

“You’re probably right,” Hector said. He turned back to his Charms essay.

Halley was back not twenty minutes later, out of breath and empty-handed.

“Did you get it?” Hector asked. “What’s happened to you?”

“It was Snape.” Halley sank into her chair, her legs shaking. “Him and Filch. In the staffroom.”

“Where staff generally are, yes,” Ron said.

“Not like that,” she snapped. “Snape’s leg was all ripped up and bleeding, and Filch was helping him bandage it. And Snape said, ‘how are you supposed to keep your eyes on all three heads at once?’”

“Blimey,” Ron said, his eyes wide. “You know what this means?”

“He tried to get past the three-headed dog at Halloween, while everyone was distracted with the troll. And I’ll bet,” she said suddenly, her eyes alight, “that  _ he _ let the troll in. As a distraction.”

Hector’s face was scrunched. “I don’t think so,” he said. “Snape’s not very nice, but he’s a teacher. If Dumbledore was guarding something, he wouldn’t just try to steal it.”

“Hector, you think all teachers are saints or something,” Ron snapped. “I’m with Halley on this. I wouldn’t put anything past Snape. But what’s he after? What’s the dog guarding?”

Halley’s face was grim in the flickering light. “I don’t know.”

By the time he went to bed, Hector was fed up with the two and their conspiracy theories. They ranged from the not-plausible (“Snape’s in league with You-Know-Who and the thing the dog is guarding is the Holy Grail”) to the completely unreasonable (“Snape’s secretly a vampire”). Not even reminding Halley about the impending match the next morning could dampen their zeal, and when Ron finally came up after Hector, he continued to whisper across the gap between their beds until Hector threw his shoe at him.

The next morning dawned very bright and cold. The Great Hall was full of the delicious smell of fried sausages and the cheerful chatter of everyone looking forward to a good Quidditch match. Halley, looking distinctly nauseous, had her head in her hands.

“You have to eat something,” Ron said.

“I don’t want anything.”

“Just a bit of toast,” Hector said, putting a slice on her plate. Obediently, Halley picked it up and took a bite.

“Halley, you need your strength,” said Seamus. “Seekers are always the ones who get clobbered by the other team.”

“Thanks, Seamus,” Halley said, looking sour. She set the half-eaten slice of toast down and closed her eyes.

In the boy’s dorm, Dean Thomas had been painting a lion on one of the bedsheets Ron’s rat, Scabbers, had ruined. Across the top, Ron and Seamus had printed “Potter for President” and Hector had charmed the sheet to make the paint flash different colors. It was this banner that they were all holding up in the top row of the Gryffindor side of the stands, which were quickly filling. Sharp cheers rose as the Gryffindor Quidditch team walked out of the locker room and mounted their brooms. 

Hector had never been much of a jock, but Quidditch seemed simple enough to him. He watched with bated breath as Halley climbed onto her broom—already looking much less queasy than she had that morning.

The Weasley twins’ friend, Lee Jordan, was doing the commentary for the match, closely watched by Professor McGonagall. Gryffindor scored, and the air was full of cheers, jeers, and Lee’s colorful commentary. 

“Budge up there, move along.”

“Hagrid!”

Ron and Hector squeezed together to give Hagrid enough space to join them. 

“Bin watchin’ from me hut,” said Hagrid, patting a large pair of binoculars around his neck, “But it isn’t the same as bein’ in the crowd. No sign of the Snitch yet, eh?”

“Nope,” said Ron. “Halley hasn’t had much to do yet.”

“Kept outta trouble, though, that’s somethin’,” said Hagrid, raising his binoculars and peering skyward at the speck that was Halley.

It was true, Halley had been dodging wayward Bludgers with a little help from the Weasley twins, whom Hector could tell were very good.

Still, Quidditch was, in the end, just a sport, and without his concern for Halley, there wasn’t much keeping him attached to the game. Ron had to shove him to keep him from pulling out a book—”Have some House pride”—and, indignantly, Hector was forced to stash it under his robes.

There was a bit of excitement as Flint nearly knocked Halley off her broom.

Down in the stands, Dean was yelling, “Send him off, ref! Red card!” 

“What are you talking about, Dean?” said Ron.

“Red card!” said Dean furiously. “In soccer you get shown the red card and you’re out of the game!”

“But this isn’t soccer, Dean,” Ron reminded him.

“So wizards are just allowed to commit fouls with no consequence?” Hector asked skeptically. 

Ron shrugged. “They got a free shot at the goalposts, didn’t they?”

Hector frowned and opened his mouth to say something, then closed it as he realized what was going on above him. “What’s going on with Halley?”

Halley seemed to have lost control of her broom—it was bucking underneath her, forcing her to hang on for dear life as it drifted off course.

Hector wasn’t the only one who had noticed. All over the stands, people were pointing up at Halley and muttering.

“Did something happen to it when Flint blocked him?” Seamus whispered.

“Can’t have,” Hagrid said, his voice shaking. “Can’t nothing interfere with a broomstick except powerful Dark magic—no kid could do that to a Nimbus Two Thousand.”

At this, Hector’s brain started to work again. “Hagrid, can I—?” He grabbed the binoculars and frantically started to scan the stands, focusing on the staff in particular. 

“What are you doing?” moaned Ron, gray-faced.

“Looking for a—” Hector started, then stopped. He’d meant to find Snape in the stands, but his view had drifted over Quirrell, who was muttering and staring up at Halley. “I’ll be back,” he said.

“Where are you going?” Ron said, but Hector was already off. As he was running, he saw that Snape was also muttering and staring. 

He had to think very fast. As he ran along the row behind where Snape was sitting, he purposely knocked into Quirrell, sending him headfirst into the row in front. Once he reached Snape, he reached into his robes, grabbed the jar of bluebell flames, and poured some onto Snape’s robes.

It took maybe thirty seconds for Snape to realize he was on fire. A yelp told Hector he’d done his job, and, leaving the fire behind, he scrambled back to his seat.

Above them, Halley regained control of her broom, nearly swallowed the Snitch, and the match ended in complete confusion. Hagrid ushered the three of them along to his hut, where he made Halley a strong cup of tea, which she insisted she didn’t need.

“What happened, Hector?” Ron asked, sipping his own mug of tea.

“It was either Snape or Quirrell,” Hector said. “They were both staring at Halley and muttering, wouldn’t take their eyes off of her.”

“It was obviously Snape,” Ron said. “He’s had it in for Halley since the first day. And,” he added, “Maybe Quirrell was casting an anti-jinx. He’s the Defense teacher, after all.”

“When has Quirrell ever been anything resembling competence?” Hector asked. “I think Snape just seems a little too obvious.”

“For what?” Ron asked. 

“This is rubbish,” Hagrid said firmly. “Snape and Quirrell are teachers, they wouldn’ do anythin’ to hurt Halley.”

“What about the dog?” Halley piped up.

“What dog is this?” Hagrid asked.

“The three-headed one on the—”

Hagrid dropped a cup. It broke with a very loud crash.

“How do you know about Fluffy?”

“ _ Fluffy? _ ”

It came out then that Hagrid had acquired Fluffy in dubious circumstances to guard something of Dumbledore’s. Hagrid refused to divulge what this thing was, but they figured out that someone named Nicholas Flamel was involved.

“Why is that name familiar?” Hector muttered on the way back to the castle. 

“Dunno,” Ron said. “Maybe it’s in one of those giant books you love to read?”

“The library,” Hector decided. “You two are coming with me.”

“Wonder what’s so good Snape would go after it?” Halley wondered.

“It might not be Snape,” Hector said.

“What are the odds of that?” Ron snorted. “Have you  _ seen _ Quirrell? All pale and peaky. Like he could ever stand up to the likes of Snape.”

“Okay, maybe it is Snape. I just think there’s something we’re missing,” Hector said, frustrated.

“Let’s just find Flamel,” Halley said.

So Hector began researching titles and authors. There was, of course,  _ Great Wizards of the Twentieth Century _ , and  _ Notable Magical Names of Our Time _ , but there was also  _ Important Modern Magical Discoveries _ , and  _ A Study of Recent Developments in Wizardry _ .

Flamel proved to be missing from all of these.

“I just don’t understand,” Ron said, slamming a book shut, “how we’ve looked for two weeks and can’t find a single mention of him.”

“Maybe he hasn’t done anything book-worthy,” Halley said.

“Then why would Dumbledore be guarding something for him at Hogwarts of all places?” Hector asked.

“We could look for years,” Ron said, “and never find Flamel in this library.”

They all looked around at the hundreds of rows, the thousands of shelves, the tens of thousands of books. 

“What if we ask Madam Pince?” Hector asked.

“Are you crazy?” Ron said. “What if Snape hears?”

“Fine,” Hector said, a little grumpily. “But how are we going to find Flamel in this? It’s not like Hogwarts has the Dewey Decimal Classification.”

“Aren’t you the one with all the answers?” Halley asked, paging through  _ Quidditch Through the Ages _ . Hector stuck his tongue out at her in reply.

At night, Ron whispered to Hector through the curtains.

“What if Snape goes after Halley again?”

“Then we protect her,” Hector said, sleepy and annoyed. “Like her knights in shining armor or something.”

“Halley would kill us if she heard that.”

“I’m not going to be the one to tell her.”

Ron snorted and fell asleep. Hector rolled over and stared at the closed curtain of his four-poster. 

He was at magic school, but there was a plot, and a trapdoor, and a magical monster that could kill all of them were it to break free of its room. He’d been very careful in his letters to his parents to not chronicle anything that would cause them to pull him from Hogwarts. Despite all the danger, he couldn’t imagine not being a wizard. He could face a thousand death plots if it meant he could feel his wand sparking underneath his fingertips.

And Halley. He wouldn’t—couldn’t—leave her alone. Closed and standoffish, lacking possession of a hairbrush, Halley Potter was quite possibly the worst at asking for help. Her grades middled average when the magic practically rolled off her in waves—there were some days when, looking at the amount of effort Halley really put into her classes, he almost understood Snape’s descriptor of ‘arrogant’. 

Real friends. He’d never wanted to keep anything more.

Hector fell into a fitful sleep, full of dreams of Halley falling off her broom into an endless blackness, Snape’s low, malicious laughter, and the smell of garlic and patchouli. When he woke up, he didn’t remember his dreams at all.


	5. Greatest Desire

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hector is back. Halley is shifty. Ron is there.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> writing is hard and summer is a bad muse and this chapter isn't even complete. it's half there. i just wanted to post what i had. thanks, y'all.

Hector returned from Christmas hols both well-rested (because he did love his parents) and completely disillusioned (because reading all his library books cover to cover hadn’t yielded anything on Flamel). As soon as he stepped into the room, where Halley was sitting on Ron’s bed, they accosted him, both speaking at once. Hector caught one word in five, and held up his hands in supplication.

“You did what?” he asked.

“We found a magic mirror,” Halley said.

“All mirrors are ‘magic,’” Ron said. “We found the Mirror of  _ Erised _ .”

“What the heck is an Erised?” Hector asked. “Is this another wizarding thing?”

Ron’s shrug told him that no, it wasn’t. “It showed us—”

“Dumbledore said—” Halley said at the same time.

“Dumbledore was there?” Hector asked, horrorstruck. “Tell me you didn’t lose any points.”

“He told me to put the cloak back on and go to bed,” she admitted. “No points.”

“Thank god for small favors,” Hector muttered. “What cloak?”

“I got an Invisibility Cloak for Christmas,” she said.

“A  _ what _ ?”

“Makes you invisible,” she said. Hector decided to just drop it and research later.

“Okay, so what was the mirror, then?” He dropped his bag the rest of the way to the floor. 

“‘It showed us nothing more or less than the deepest, most desperate desire of our hearts,’” Halley recited. 

“What did you see?” Hector asked, curious. Halley flushed a dark red.

“It doesn’t matter,” she said. 

“Ron?”

“Dumbledore was shaking my hand and handing me the House Cup,” Ron said, rubbing his hand over his neck. “I was Quidditch Captain and Head Boy.”

“Like…” Hector trailed off.  _ Bill and Charlie _ . 

“Perfect Prefect Percy, probably,” Ron said with a snort.

“I wonder what I would’ve seen,” Hector said thoughtfully. “I don’t think I have any deep and dark desires.”

“Dumbledore said the happiest man on earth would be able to use the Mirror of Erised like a normal mirror,” Halley said. “Maybe you could do that.” 

“Maybe,” he said, though it didn’t sound right to his ears. “Did you all find out anything about Flamel?”

“No,” Halley said. “I even went through the Restricted Section—”

“You did?” Hector dropped the sock he was holding. “If Filch had caught you—!”

“He didn’t,” she interrupted, holding her hands up. “I was under the Cloak, and everything was fine.

“Besides, I didn’t get far,” she added. “The first book I opened started screaming and I scarpered.”

“So you didn’t even find out who Flamel was?” Hector asked, disappointed.

“We’re all back now,” Ron said, trying to sound encouraging. “We’ll be sure to find something with our resident boy-genius.” 

With Halley constantly at Quidditch practice, Hector and Ron spent a lot of time combing through the stacks in the library, finding precious little. While Ron skimmed steadily, Hector often got distracted reading passages from books he found interesting.

“Does Hogwarts offer an Alchemy elective?” Hector asked, his eyes glued to a page.

“Dunno,” Ron said. “I think Mum took it in her sixth year.”

“It’s a hard subject,” Hector said. “So fascinating. I think it’s the only truly interdisciplinary class at Hogwarts!”

“Swot,” Ron said with affection. 

“Just because I like to learn doesn’t make me a swot,” Hector said. “Look at this. It’s a combination of Potions, chemistry, and Transfiguration.”

“Is that even a book we’re supposed to be looking through?” Ron asked, craning his neck to look at it.

Hector felt his face warm. “No,” he admitted, closing it. “I just saw a mention of alchemy in another book and wanted to find out what it was.”

“Well, set it aside and you can check it out later for some bedtime reading,” Ron said. 

Hector heaved a heavy sigh and set the book aside. “It’s almost eight,” he said. “Halley should be back soon. We can wait for her in the common room.”

They trudged back to the common room, where, mercifully, some of the good chairs were unoccupied. Ron had been attempting to teach Hector wizarding chess. It was the only thing he ever lost, as familiar with the rules of regular chess as he was. 

“It’s just so distracting,” he said, watching another pawn get crushed to smithereens. “Doesn’t it put you off your game?”

“Not particularly,” Ron said, directing his knight into harm’s way. 

It was after one crushing defeat that Hector threw his hands up. “How do you do this?” he asked, frustrated. “You can’t even levitate the feather right.”

Ron flushed dark red. “Well, it’s different,” he said. “I’m better at this than I am at class stuff.”

Hector stared at the chessboard sullenly. “I want a rematch,” he demanded. “I think I’ve got your strategy worked out.”

“Oh you have, have you,” Ron said. “Assemble,” he told the board, and all the chess pieces picked themselves up and marched back into place.

When Halley walked up, still dripping water, they were in the thick of the game.

“Don’t talk to me for a moment,” Ron said, “I need to concen—” He caught sight of Halley’s face.

“What’s the matter with you? You look terrible.”

“Snape,” Halley said. “He’s refereeing the next match.”

“The Gryffindor against Hufflepuff one?” Hector asked, confused. “Why does he care how it ends? He’s Head of Slytherin.”

“Well, putting aside that all the match outcomes are connected,” Ron said, “Isn’t it obvious? He wants to go after Halley again!”

“Don’t play,” Hector said.

“Say you’re ill,” Ron said.

“Pretend to break your leg,” Hector said.

“ _ Really _ break your leg,” Ron said, and when the two turned to stare at him, he raised his hands. “Pomfrey’d fix her up right off, wouldn’t even leave a bruise.”

“As stellar as these suggestions are,” Halley said, “Gryffindor doesn’t have a reserve Seeker, and besides, I’m not going to give Snape the satisfaction of thinking I’m scared of him.”

“Aren’t you?” Hector wondered.

“No,” Halley snapped. “Absolutely not.”

“It kind of sounds like you are,” Hector said.

“If she says she’s not, she’s not,” Ron said, shooting Hector a look. Hector raised his hands in supplication. He was about to ask Halley how she wanted to play this when Neville fell into the common room.

How he’d gotten through the portrait hole was anyone’s guess, as he was Leg-Locked. The entire common room fell over themselves laughing, but Hector (stifling a giggle) jumped up and performed the countercurse.

“What happened?” he asked, leading Neville over to sit with Ron and Halley.

“Malfoy found me outside the library,” Neville said. “He said he’d been looking for someone to practice on.”

“You should report him,” Hector said, but Neville shook his head.

“I don’t want more trouble,” he said. “If I report him he’ll only get angrier.”

“There’s no reason to give him the satisfaction,” Ron started, but Neville seemed to curl in on himself.

“I’m not brave like you lot,” he said. “I know I don’t belong in Gryffindor…”

Halley got a very steely look in her eye. “Neville, you’re worth twelve of Malfoy,” she said firmly. She reached into her bag and pulled out a chocolate frog and handed it to him. “The Hat chose you for Gryffindor, didn’t it?” She seemed to hesitate. “You thought you’d get Hufflepuff, but you’re here. That’s got to be worth something. If the Hat chose you, you belong here.”

Neville’s lips twitched in a weak smile as he opened the frog. “Thanks, Halley. I’m… I’m just going to go to bed. Do you want the card? You collect them, don’t you?”

As Neville walked away, Halley looked down at the card automatically.

“I already have Dumbledore…” Her eyes got very wide. “I found him.”

“Found who?” Ron asked. 

“Flamel,” she said. “I  _ knew _ I’d read his name before. Listen to this. ‘Dumbledore is particularly famous for his defeat of the dark wizard Grindelwald in 1945, for the discovery of the twelve uses of dragon’s blood,  _ and his work on alchemy with his partner, Nicolas Flamel.’ _ ”

Hector’s mind started to race. “Wait a minute. Stay here!” He ran up to the dormitory, taking the steps two at a time, and shuffled through the books on his nightstand. “There you are,” he whispered. He ran back down the stairs.

“I never even thought to look in here,” he said, brandishing the heavy book. “I got it out of the library weeks ago for some light reading.”

“Light reading?” he heard Ron say.

“Be quiet until I’ve found it,” he said, flipping through the pages. “I knew it! I  _ knew  _ it!”

“Are we allowed to speak yet?” said Ron grumpily. Hector ignored him.

_ “Nicolas Flamel,”  _ he whispered dramatically, “ _ is the only known maker of the Philosopher’s Stone _ !” He sighed at their blank expressions.

“Have either of you read a book for anything other than school?” 

“I liked Roald Dahl,” Halley said. Hector brightened.

“Oh, I love Matilda—”

“Who’s Flamel?” Ron interrupted. “You lot can talk about Muggle books some other time.”

“Right,” Hector said. “Here, read this.” He shoved the book at them, and watched their faces as they read.

_ The ancient study of alchemy is concerned with making the Sorcerer’s Stone, a legendary substance with astonishing powers. The stone will transform any metal into pure gold. It also produces the Elixir of Life, which will make the drinker immortal. _

_ There have been many reports of the Sorcerer’s Stone over the centuries, but the only Stone currently in existence belongs to Mr. Nicolas Flamel, the noted alchemist and opera lover. Mr. Flamel, who celebrated his six hundred and sixty-fifth birthday last year, enjoys a quiet life in Devon with his wife, Perenelle (six hundred and fifty-eight). _

“I’ll bet that’s what the dog is guarding,” Halley said thoughtfully, once she’d finished. “Hogwarts is supposed to be safer than anywhere else in the Wizarding World, Hagrid told me so during my first trip to Diagon.” 

“And Flamel and Dumbledore are friends,” Ron said, filling in the rest. “So Flamel probably asked Dumbledore for a favor…”

“Except we’re on to Snape,” Halley said. 

“Right,” Hector said, who had never been convinced it was Snape they were looking for. 

“No wonder we couldn’t find Flamel in that  _ Study of Recent Developments in Wizardry _ ,” said Ron. “He’s not exactly recent if he’s six hundred and sixty-five, is he?”

The next morning in Defense Against the Dark Arts, while copying down different ways of treating werewolf bites, they were all still discussing what they’d do with a Sorcerer’s Stone if they had one. 

“I’d buy a house,” Halley said. “Far away from the Dursleys.”

“New robes,” Ron said.

“I’d travel,” Hector said.

“Don’t you do that already?” Ron asked.

“I’d be able to go anywhere,” Hector said, his voice taking on a dreamy tone. “I’d be able to scour through the world’s libraries… I’d learn so much, and I’d have forever to do it.”

“I’d buy my own Quidditch team,” Ron said. Halley frowned, as if something had just occurred to her.

“The match,” she said. “I’m going to play.”

“Are you sure?” Hector asked.

“If I don’t, all the Slytherins will think I’m just too scared to face Snape,” she said. “I’ll show them... it’ll really wipe the smiles off their faces if we win.”

“Just as long as we’re not wiping you off the field,” Hector said.

As the match drew nearer, Halley became more and more frazzled looking. Ron and Hector tried their best to act as though everything was normal, but she had become impossible to reason with.

“She hissed at me the other day,” Ron told Hector when Halley was at Quidditch practice.

“Hissed at you?” Hector asked, aghast.

“Like a cat,” Ron confirmed.

“I’ll be glad when this match is over,” Hector said. “There’s not much permanent damage Snape will be able to do to her with McGonagall right there in the stands… I don’t think Halley’s thought of that.”

It was clear by the look on Ron’s face that he hadn’t thought of that either. “That’s right,” he said. “McGonagall’s right scary.”

“Still, we’ll need something else,” Hector said. “Just in case.”

“Something else?”

“Something to stop Snape,” he said. “McGonagall or not, he’ll definitely try  _ something _ . How’s your Leg Locker?”

As the weeks went on, Halley’s mild fear, bolstered by bold Slytherins and Snape’s attitude toward her during Potions, had been kindled into raging terror, and “I can’t let them win” had turned into “If I die trying, I want you to have my Cloak.”

“You’re not going to  _ die _ ,” Hector said. “I don’t want your Cloak.”

“You have to use it to avenge me,” Halley said.

“You’re not going to need avenging,” Ron said. 


End file.
